“I daresay you will write it, whether I consent or not. Leave it on the hall table, and it will go out with the morning mail.”
“I may run out to the box with it.”
“I forbid your doing anything of the sort.”
“Oh, very well,” I responded meekly.
“If there is such haste about it, give it to Hannah to mail.”
“Very well,” I said.
She made an excuse to see Hannah before she left, and I knew that I was being watched. I was greatly excited, and happier than I had been for weeks. But when I had settled myself in the Library, with the paper in front of me, I could not think of anything to say in a letter. So I wrote a poem instead.
“To H——
“Dear love: you seem so far away,
I would that you were near.
I do so long to hear you say
Again, ‘I love you, dear.’
“Here all is cold and drear and strange
With none who with me tarry,
I hope that soon we can arrange
To run away and marry.”